


homecoming

by The_Eclectic_Bookworm



Category: Miss Fisher and the Crypt of Tears (2020), Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Minor Hugh Collins/Dorothy "Dot" Williams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:46:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23151937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Eclectic_Bookworm/pseuds/The_Eclectic_Bookworm
Summary: In which Dorothy Collins receives three telegrams, makes a grand gesture, and does some detecting of her own.(set some time aftermiss fisher and the crypt of tears, so vague spoilers abound!)
Relationships: Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson
Comments: 58
Kudos: 262





	homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> i am ABSOLUTELY back on my miss fisher nonsense. i am so glad to be back on my miss fisher nonsense. i had to get all my feelings out after the movie, so there will probably be more fic (especially given the state that the world is in atm! and that i will have three weeks of online classes to look forward to! aaaaah!)
> 
> like i said in the summary, there are definitely some spoilers for the movie here! nothing you Need to have watched the movie for, but please read with that in mind.

The Collins household received three overseas telegrams after Inspector Robinson left for Miss Fisher’s wake. The first came in the middle of work—a brief, terse missive that somehow managed to convey the Inspector’s deeply-familiar exasperation in only a few sentences.

* * *

MISS FISHER ALIVE STOP LANDED A PLANE IN THE MIDDLE OF HER OWN DAMN WAKE STOP PLEASE PASS THIS NEWS ON TO ALL INTERESTED PARTIES STOP

* * *

The telegram was subsequently run across town by Mr. Collins, who hadn’t stopped worrying about his Dot ever since the news about Miss Fisher had reached Melbourne. Stuffed into his pocket, it was somewhat the worse for wear by the time he reached his wife—but the message was still intact, and was relayed with breathless joy from Mr. to Mrs. Collins. Dot, who had been crying on and off for the past three weeks (a lethal mixture of pregnancy hormones and horrible grief) burst into tears _again,_ wrapping her husband up in a hug that prevented him from returning to his post for the rest of the day. (“A family emergency, sir,” he explained later over the phone. “So sorry—only you’ll have to understand, a dear friend of ours did _not_ die in Palestine!”

Dot sent a flurry of messages out to anyone and everyone who had attended the wake in Melbourne, and a barrage of reproving telegrams in the direction of London (MISS FISHER WHAT ON EARTH WERE YOU THINKING LETTING US BELIEVE YOU DEAD FOR SIX WEEKS STOP RESPOND IMMEDIATELY STOP), and in the ensuing hustle and bustle of celebration, another telegram arrived at the Collins household.

* * *

DARLING DOT STOP MY DEEPEST AND MOST PROFOUND APOLOGIES STOP I HAD NO IDEA THAT THE NEWS OF MY DEMISE HAD REACHED MELBOURNE AND WOULD HAVE MADE SURE TO CORRECT THIS EGREGIOUS ERROR HAD I KNOWN YOU BELIEVED ME DEAD STOP I HOPE THIS HAS NOT CAUSED YOU OR THE BABY ANY UNDUE STRESS STOP I AM FIT AS A FIDDLE AND INTEND TO STAY THAT WAY STOP I WILL SEND YOU AN OUTRAGEOUS AMOUNT OF APOLOGY CHOCOLATE STOP I AM OFF TO PALESTINE TO FINISH UNFINISHED BUSINESS BUT PROMISE NOT TO GET SQUASHED BY ANY TRAINS THIS GO ROUND EITHER STOP MUCH LOVE PHRYNE FISHER

* * *

“Oh, that _disastrously_ irresponsible woman!” said Dot tearfully, hugging the telegram to her chest with a huge smile on her face. “Apology chocolate—as though that will make up for _anything!_ How dare she put us through this ridiculousness without even _considering—”_

“Dottie,” said Hugh, who hadn’t stopped grinning for a second, “you look a _bit_ too delighted for that to be very convincing.”

* * *

The third telegram—again from the Inspector—arrived a number of weeks later. This telegram, however, conveyed something entirely different with only a few words.

* * *

MISS FISHER AND I RETURN HOME COME EASTER STOP

* * *

“Dot!” sang out Miss Fisher, breezing into the Collins’ sitting room and sweeping Dot up into a warm hug. Dot laughed, tearful and breathless, and hugged her fiercely back. “Oh, I _am_ sorry,” Miss Fisher added into her hair, and the note of genuine contrition in her voice made it clear to Dot that she meant it. “If I’d known you thought—and for six weeks—and you with a baby on the way—well, I’d have sent a telegram to Melbourne _much_ sooner, you can be sure of that.”

“But to _Dot,_ yes?” said Inspector Robinson dryly from the doorway, shaking Hugh’s hand.

“Hush, you. I’ve apologized to _you_ quite enough already.” Miss Fisher gave the Inspector a bright, playful grin—one that he returned without hesitation.

Dot raised an eyebrow.

Miss Fisher went slightly pink. _That_ was new. With an awkward throat clear, she added, “At any rate, my deepest and most profound apologies.”

“Oh, it’s—” Dot sighed, smiling. “I’m really just glad you’re all right, miss.”

“You know, you aren’t my employee anymore, Dot,” Miss Fisher pointed out. “If you wanted to call me Phryne—”

 _This,_ Dot thought, was going to be her very favorite part of the day. “Oh, I really couldn’t,” she said, giving Miss Fisher her most innocent smile. “That would make things a bit confusing, wouldn’t it?”

“I’m sorry?”

Dot shifted from foot to foot, her smile growing. “Miss Fisher, I don’t know if you’ve kept an _exact_ account,” she said, “but I don’t look very pregnant to you at the moment, do I?”

“Well—”

“Don’t tease them, Dottie,” said Hugh, a laugh in his voice. “Let me go get her.” Clapping the Inspector on his shoulder, he headed out of the sitting room and up the stairs.

“Her?” repeated Miss Fisher bemusedly.

“We-ell,” said Dot, grinning broadly, “we really did all think you were dead. And Hugh hadn’t _entirely_ agreed to the notion before your untimely demise, but I was crying so much that he promised to it before he realized what he’d gotten himself into.”

Miss Fisher now looked greatly upset. “Oh, _Dot,”_ she said miserably. “If I’d any idea—you must understand that I didn’t think news of my death would reach Melbourne. I fully intended to arrive safely home as soon as possible.”

“Miss Fisher, I’m _well_ past being miffed at you,” said Dot truthfully. “I’ve had time enough to think about the situation, and—well—given the life you lead, _and_ your difficulties with maintaining consistent communication while you’re out of the country, I’m largely surprised that there hasn’t been some sort of misunderstanding _before_ now.”

Behind Miss Fisher, the Inspector coughed. It sounded a little like _motorcar._

Miss Fisher gave the Inspector a Look. To Dot, she said, “I suppose you have a point. Still—”

She was interrupted, then, by Hugh bringing the smallest Collins into the room. Deftly, he handed her off to Dot, who gently bounced her daughter in her arms. “Miss Fisher,” said Dot brightly, “I should like to introduce you to Phryne Annabel Collins.”

“—oh!” said Miss Fisher, and her eyes filled with tears. Pressing her fingers to her mouth, she managed a wobbly grin. “Dot, that’s—well. Though I can’t say I’m not flattered, that’s quite a name to saddle a little girl with.”

“You managed just swimmingly with it, didn’t you?” Dot countered. Her smile softened as she looked down at her daughter. “Miss Fisher,” she said, smoothing down baby Phryne’s downy hair, “the one thing that—that has always seemed so utterly remarkable about you is how _brave_ you are. Even when I thought you dead, I-I was comforted wholly by the knowledge that you lived your life to the fullest, and on your terms. I’d be honored if you allowed my daughter to carry on that legacy.”

“Jack,” said Miss Fisher in a strangled voice, “might I borrow your shoulder? I need to hide my face.”

The Inspector looked more amused than anything, but moved forward, tucking an arm around Miss Fisher’s waist. She, in turn, tucked her head into his chest. “That _isn’t_ my shoulder, Phryne,” he said mildly.

“How _dare_ you expect me to grasp basic anatomy when my dear companion has named her _daughter_ after me!” retorted Miss Fisher, her voice a strange hybrid of tears and laughter. “Dot, this—I don’t even know what to say!”

“You don’t have to say anything at all!” said Dot earnestly. “It’s something I _wanted_ to do, Miss Fisher. I don’t take naming a baby lightly at all.”

“She really doesn’t,” Hugh affirmed. “She made a stunning amount of lists.” He grinned a little. “I do agree with my wife, though, Miss Fisher. You’re the whole reason I have Dottie in my life at all—how could I disagree with her if she wants to name the baby after you?”

Miss Fisher made a noise that sounded a bit like someone was strangling a goose. The Inspector now looked like it was taking everything in him to keep himself from laughing. “Phryne, _really,”_ he said. “Have you never had someone name a baby after you?”

“Jack, take this more seriously!” said Miss Fisher waspishly, tilting her head up to look at him.

The Inspector tilted his head at Miss Fisher.

And then—it was funny, Dot thought, because she’d seen Miss Fisher with a veritable plethora of men, and she’d seen Miss Fisher with the Inspector _countless_ times, but she’d never seen Miss Fisher’s face go quite like that. Soft and open, all but bubbling over with a bizarrely furtive delight—and what was even funnier was that the Inspector’s own expression seemed almost a mirror to Miss Fisher’s.

 _Something_ had happened in Palestine, Dot deduced, cocking her head as she observed the both of them. And what kind of companion to a Lady Detective wasn’t able to do some detecting on her own time?

* * *

Though Dot and Miss Fisher didn’t share a _lot_ in common: they did have one key similarity: in their minds, love and marriage had always existed in tandem. This had never quite been a problem for _Dot,_ but Miss Fisher had always seemed to have some degree of trouble with the concept of love without commitment. Dot herself had had some trouble too, but three years at Miss Fisher’s side had taught her quite a lot about the difference between love and marriage—that one could exist without the other, that one wasn’t needed for the other to flourish, that the world was more complicated than falling in love with the person you would one day marry.

Now, this didn’t stop Dot herself from wanting marriage and children with the man she loved—and she was grateful that Miss Fisher understood at least _that_ much. But Dot had also paid careful and impartial attention to the way Miss Fisher interacted with the Inspector, and had watched the two develop a relationship unlike anything she’d seen before. In Dot’s estimation, of all the marvels she had seen as Miss Fisher’s companion, the Inspector’s truly unselfish love for Miss Fisher was perhaps the most _marvelous._

Miss Fisher, though, was skittish when it came to matters of love; she saw love as a commitment she wasn’t willing to make. Dot didn’t exactly have the language to explain the way she felt around Hugh, and had never felt confident enough to bring up such a personal topic with Miss Fisher—but in her opinion, love both was and wasn’t a commitment. There was always some degree of _choice,_ of course—but caring about a person meant understanding that you should never have to chop off bits of yourself to make them feel better.

Miss Fisher, when she had left in that airplane so long ago, had seemed to be under the misapprehension that no man would love her exactly as she was. It hadn’t taken much investigation on Dot’s part to notice the lovelorn Inspector she’d left behind.

With all this in mind, it didn’t seem entirely right to ask Miss Fisher directly about the Inspector. Miss Fisher had always made it very clear to Dot that any and all questions were welcome, but Dot had always done her best to avoid the questions that she knew Miss Fisher might not be able to answer. A more casual approach would be better, Dot decided, and so she waited until baby Phryne was the center of attention to catch Miss Fisher standing awkwardly by the door. (Miss Fisher had never really _understood_ babies. This was exactly why Dot had brought baby Phryne in.)

“Miss Fisher,” she said, affecting the tone of the shyly curious companion, “how was it that you and the Inspector came to travel home together? Last I heard, you were off to Palestine.”

And— _there._ A flush of pink in the unflappable Miss Fisher’s cheeks. In all the years Dot had known Miss Fisher, not _once_ had she seen the lady blush—and certainly not coupled with an almost flustered smile in response. “Um,” said Miss Fisher, and bit her lip, smiling a little. “Jack—was kind enough to accompany me on my latest excursion.”

“Certainly helped with that…tarantula,” said the Inspector casually from across the room.

Miss Fisher’s blush deepened, but she didn’t look at all displeased. “Quite a few tarantulas, actually,” she said.

The Inspector grinned at the ceiling.

 _“Spiders,_ miss?” said Dot, alarmed. “Lucky for you that the Inspector _was_ there, then!”

“I’d certainly say so,” Miss Fisher agreed. Her blush hadn’t gone away—nor had that strangely radiant smile. Dot had seen Miss Fisher smile before, but all of them were casually joyous, more playful than sincere. This smile was of the same stripe that Dot herself had had on her wedding day.

On a suspicion, Dot checked Miss Fisher’s ring finger—but no, there was no wedding ring. It wouldn’t make much sense if there _was,_ anyway; the only marriage of Miss Fisher’s that she knew about was the Maharajah, and the truth about _that_ had come in a salacious letter a few weeks ago. Dot couldn’t quite see Miss Fisher marrying anyone unless it was for…well…exactly the reason that Miss Fisher had briefly married the Maharajah. “So,” said Dot, “you and the Inspector went to Palestine _together?”_

“Deeply romantic,” said Miss Fisher with a more Miss Fisher-like grin.

“If you call wading about in quicksand _romantic,_ then certainly,” said the Inspector.

Dot frowned. Nothing about Miss Fisher and the Inspector’s back-and-forth seemed particularly out-of-the-ordinary—and yet she felt _sure_ that her suspicions weren’t incorrect.

* * *

It was much later in the evening—after Bert and Cec had arrived with alcohol enough to turn the cozy little gathering into a cheerfully rowdy gala, after Dr. Macmillan had arrived to sweep Miss Fisher into a bracing hug, after Mr. Butler had turned up to say warmly that he was _quite_ unsurprised to see Miss Fisher alive and well as always—that Dot, heading to the kitchen with a small stack of dishes to wash, caught sight of Miss Fisher and the Inspector tucked into an alcove in the hallway. They were standing so close that Dot at first felt _sure_ she’d interrupted them kissing, but at her involuntary gasp, the Inspector straightened almost languidly and Miss Fisher turned to smile. “Dot!” she said. “Oh, here, let me get those. You’ve cleaned the dishes in my house _quite_ often; I should rather like to return the favor.”

Neither of them seemed at all flustered by her presence. This, too, felt thoroughly unusual. Before Miss Fisher had left, entering a room with only her and the Inspector always made Dot feel like she was intruding on something charged and personal. “I only hope you don’t request wages, miss,” said Dot with a grin.

“Perish the very thought,” said Miss Fisher, and swept off to the kitchen with the dishes in hand.

This left Dot with the Inspector, who turned to her with a small smile. And _that_ was the most unusual thing of _all,_ because whenever Miss Fisher left a room, the Inspector’s eyes followed her until she was all-the-way gone. Dot cast around for something to say, and came up with, “Um. How was Palestine?”

The Inspector’s smile softened. “Illuminating,” he said. “All things considered.”

“Oh?”

The Inspector shifted from foot to foot, a contemplative expression on his face. Then he said, “Dot, do you remember—when the news came out about the Maharajah?”

Dot did. The Inspector had been a veritable storm cloud of a man for nearly two weeks.

“You said something that I think is somewhat relevant now,” said the Inspector.

“Oh?”

“You said that you thought there was a perfectly reasonable explanation,” said the Inspector, “because it was so thoroughly and so _completely_ unlike Miss Fisher to marry a man for traditional reasons.” He smiled again, soft and warm. “I should like you to know that I think I would have been doing quite a lot better for myself had I listened to you from the very beginning.”

Dot giggled, surprised. “I expect Miss Fisher explained the situation to you too, then?” she inquired. “I received a letter from her about a week ago detailing the whole affair.”

“Phryne is indeed the stuff of dime novels,” the Inspector agreed.

“I heard that,” said Miss Fisher, swatting his shoulder. The Inspector caught her hand in his, and she laughed. _“Jack—!”_

Eyes only on Miss Fisher, the Inspector kissed the knuckles of her hand. Both of them smiled again—that big, happy smile—and then the Inspector dropped her hand and said, “I should go make sure Bert and Cec don’t break Dot’s fine china.”

“They’d _never_ ,” said Dot, smiling sweetly. “I put the fear of God into Bert last week when he got grease on my best tablecloth.”

 _“God,_ it’s good to be back,” said Miss Fisher with relish.

“Not back for long, though, I expect?” said the Inspector. “You were talking about seeing India, or perhaps the Americas—”

“We still have to sort out your leave, Jack,” said Miss Fisher briskly. “I can hang about for a bit longer till you can come _with_ me.”

“Not _after_ you?”

“No,” said Miss Fisher, and looked directly up at the Inspector. _“With_ me.”

Dot decided that now was perhaps an opportune time to politely cough.

“Oh—dishes, dishes, I _am_ a wreck,” said Miss Fisher with an apologetic laugh. “They’re all _washed,_ but I came in to ask—where did you put the dish towel?”

“Drawer under the sink,” said Dot.

“Drawer under the sink,” Miss Fisher echoed. With a last little wave, she headed back into the kitchen.

Dot studied the Inspector again—the new softness to his face, the new light in his eyes, the way he seemed just an inexplicable smidge _rumpled_ —and then said, shyly, “Inspector, I hope I’m not overstepping, but if I’m not mistaken—I think you two are very good for each other.”

The Inspector’s eyes widened, and for a terrible moment, Dot was quite afraid that she’d misread the situation. Perhaps it was still too early, perhaps Miss Fisher was still oblivious, perhaps the Inspector was still reticent—

And then the _Inspector_ blushed, and the smile on his face bloomed into something positively _joyous._ “Yes,” he said. “Yes, we’re—we’re making travel plans, I think. She says she doesn’t want to be without me for very long, now that she doesn’t have to be.”

“Goodness!” said Dot. “Palestine did _wonders_ for the both of you.”

Miss Fisher rounded the corner again, then gave the both of them a bewildered look. “Why on earth are you two lurking in a dark hallway rather than socializing?” she asked. “The entire _reason_ I did dishes was to allow Dot some extra time with her guests—”

“Where are you planning to travel with the Inspector next?” Dot asked. This time, her innocent-companion smile couldn’t _quite_ hide her own delight.

Miss Fisher blushed. “What?”

“Good lord,” said the Inspector. “Dot, why don’t you attend to your guests while I attend to Phryne?”

“That does seem to be your job now, doesn’t it?” said Dot, and darted into her sitting room before either of them could respond.

* * *

Everyone filed out on their own time, just as it had been when Miss Fisher had held parties at Wardlow. Miss Fisher and Inspector Robinson were the last to leave, and as Dot was tidying up the living room, she caught sight of them walking down the steps together. The Inspector tugged on Miss Fisher’s arm halfway down the walk, and she turned, a smile on her face. And then the Inspector tugged Miss Fisher all the way into his arms, burying his face in her hair.

Dot thought about how long the Inspector had waited—years and years at arm’s length. Then, tugging the drapes shut, she went upstairs and sat down on the bed next to Hugh. He rolled over to smile at her, and she said, “Hugh, did you know that Miss Fisher and the Inspector are in love?”

Hugh went tomato red and stammered, “Oh—that’s—I mean, it certainly isn’t my place to—” which, Dot knew, was a very clear _yes._

“Well, they’re happy, anyway,” she said. “I’m fairly certain they’ll be off on some grand adventures of their own soon enough.”


End file.
